Reader Inserts
by NyanNyanMeow
Summary: This is just a bunch of reader inserts that I will be making. There will also be child!reader inserts as well. REQUESTS ARE OPEN
1. Chapter 1

"Daddy, what is this painting called?" You looked up at a painting of a man with purple hair holding a blue rose.

"Forgotten Portrait. Do you like it (y/n)?" You looked up at your father, his blonde hair was neatly brush and hung just to his shoulders. His bright blue eyes smiled down at you and he gave you a small grin.

"It makes me sad."

"Why is that, mon amour?"

"He looks so sad… and lonely." You gave a long stare at the painting then back up at your father. "Daddy… Did something bad happen to him?"

Your father gave the painting a long hard look and turned back to you, kneeling so he was at your height.

"You know what I think? I think, that maybe he has been through so much sadness... but now, he is at peace. Maybe he isn't with the ones he loves and maybe he might have nightmares of everything that has happened. But, now he doesn't have to run anymore." Your father lightly booped your nose with his finger. "Now come, ma princesse. I saw a pretty sculpture that I thought you might like!" He exclaimed grabbing your small hand in his own.

You were currently at an art gallery with your father, Francis Bonnefoy. It had only opened recently and there was an exhibit your father had wanted to see for a very long time. You tried to remember the name of artist… Guertena? Aah, yes! That was it. You remembered your father was so excited when he found out the news of this exhibit.

You had loved art for a very long time and kept pestering your father to let you skip out on school for the day and see it with him. He agreed quickly and set a date in a matter of minutes of asking.

Your father stopped walking and you bumped into him, too indulged in your own thoughts.

"Mon amour," your father chuckled at your slightly confused face. "This is what I wanted to show you. Isn't it beautiful?"

You looked in front of you and your (e/c) eyes widen in admiration. There was a beautifully sculpted red rose that stood a tad taller than yourself. The red petals glistened beautifully even under the terrible florescent lights and it seemed to sway slightly to the side.

"Oui, papa." You said, just loud enough for your father to hear.

You both admired the sculpture for a couple more minutes before walking around the gallery a while longer. There was a painting of a lady in a red dress that scared you, causing you to hide behind your chuckling father for protection. The mannequins that had no heads scared you further and soon you couldn't wait to get back to the safety of your home.

"Just one more thing I want to see then we will go. Okay, mon amour?" Francis looked down at you.

"Oui-" But your sentence was cut off as you let out a big yawn.

Smiling softly your father gently picked you up and held you in his arms.

After walking for another minute or two, your father finally stopped. He must have arrived at what he wanted to see, but you were too tired to look over your shoulder. Not soon after your father turned back around and headed towards the exit. Looking up you saw the painting he had been looking at. It was a painting that nearly filled the whole wall. It resembled the art gallery they were in at the moment in a way, but it was darker.

Your father turned a corner and you lost sight of the painting. You closed your eyes and sighed, glad that it was a public holiday tomorrow.

Before sleep overcame you, you just managed to hear the voices of two young girls.

"Hey, Ib! Look at this painting of a bunny! Isn't it cute?"

"Yeah… I want to pet it."


	2. Lithuania x Reader

"Toris!" I hissed to the immobile figure on the bed. "Wake up!"

The Lithuanian subconsciously murmured something ineligible and pulled the covers over his head. Not a strand of his brown hair was visible. I groaned, putting my hands on my hips. People may not know it, but Toris was essentially impossible to rouse in the morning. Maybe the reason why he sleeps like the dead was because he was such a hard worker, often working past his shift and getting home more fatigued than he should be. But nevertheless, I find it ridiculous that it could take me up to an hour to get him out of bed. I checked my wristwatch. It's already 1 PM, for god's sake!

I strode to the curtains and threw them open, permitting sunlight to wash through the hotel room. From where I was standing, in our room on the twelfth floor, all I could see was the ocean and the sky, two vast strips of blue stretching beyond the horizon. The waves and foam sparkled like glass as it caught on the light, and my eyes would hurt a bit if I stared at it too long. If I wanted to see the sandy beaches below, I had to peer directly downwards from the veranda. I went back to Toris and bent over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. "Come on, Toris. You know what day it is today, and you already wasted half of it."

"What day... is it?" he grumbled sluggishly.

"It's February 16th."

"So…?"

I swear the gears rotating in his foggy brain was creaking as slowly as Heracles, the sleep-loving Greek friend of mine.

"Toris Laurinaitis, or AKA Mr. Lithuania," I sighed in mock hopelessness, "It is your birthday today."

"Oh."

And finally, I spotted a flicker of green from his eyes. He pushed himself up to his elbows and tossed back the covers, blinking from the sunlight. For several seconds, he absently stared at the room, registering where and why he was in this unfamiliar place.

"What time is it?" he mumbled, running his hands through his tangled, shoulder-length hair.

"1 PM."

His dark green eyes abruptly flew awake and he scrambled off the bed. "No way!" he moaned. "It's already in the afternoon?"

"That's right, sleepy head," I said, grinning as Toris wheeled around the room. He always took things so seriously. Well, save when his brain wasn't so languid, he took everything too seriously.

"Did you eat anything yet? You didn't wait for me to wake up for hours did you?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm fine. I went downstairs to eat a few hours ago." I shrugged. "I was pretty sure you'd still be asleep when I came upstairs again, and of course, you were oblivious to the world until now."

He grinned sheepishly, knowing quite well that I didn't like the particular job of waking him up.

"I guess I should go take a shower first," he chuckled. "Then we could go for a walk and find something to eat for lunch."

Right after the bathroom door clicked shut, I could've smacked myself. I had absolutely forgot to wish him happy birthday.

Every little shop and café we passed still had their decorations for Valentines up. Although February 14th was two days ago, Toris's birthday felt more like a second Valentine's Day for us since we'd go on a date together. The only difference was the switch of roles. Today, I was the one giving the present and paying for the meal. I didn't forget to wish Toris happy birthday then.

On the way back, we decided to walk back to the hotel through the beach area rather than the streets. Slippers off, we dared each other to wade as deep as we can into the ocean. However, by the time the water was up to my waist, I didn't bother to go further since I didn't want to be swept under. On the other hand, Toris was a bit braver and was standing a meter or two ahead of me.

I smirked. His back was completely turned to me.

Now, just to have a bit of fun…

I leapt forward and seized Toris's unbuttoned shirt. He yelped in surprise, his arms flailing back to steady him when he fell a moment later. He landed with a splash, completely drenched in the salty seawater. A side of his shirt had sagged down his arm, revealing his bare shoulder.

I gasped and reeled away from Toris.

Scars. There were scars everywhere.

Toris sharply glanced at me, his eyes glazed with shame and embarrassment. He then averted my eyes when he realized what I had glimpsed and rapidly concealed his back and shoulder. His face dark and grim, Toris stood up and coldly marched past me, not speaking or meeting my gaze.

I was, for the first time, scared of Lithuania, not Toris as a person, but Lithuania.

How did he get so many scars? Just… just what did he have to go through?

"T-Toris, wait!" I dashed after him and clung to his arm. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it! I didn't know it would make you angry!"

He bit his lower lip as he listened to my string of desperate apologies. But when I noticed the tremors going through the arm I held, I suddenly couldn't utter a word.

"It's not your fault," he whispered hoarsely. A sad smile curved on his lips and he shook his head. "It has nothing to do with you actually."

"Then-"

Toris silenced me, placing his finger on his lips.

"Let's go back to our room. I'll explain everything."

I didn't complain when he clenched my hands too tightly. Neither of us spoke.

He immediately locked the door behind us and closed the curtains, drawing the room into a dimmed, rigid, state. I sat cross-legged on the bed and hugged the pillow tight, a substitute for the comfort Toris couldn't provide me at the moment. Although he repeatedly assured that it wasn't my fault he snapped, there was guilt burning inside me and I couldn't bear to look at him in the eye.

Toris then climbed on and sat across from me. He took my hand and squeezed it gently, almost apologetically. His hands strangely seemed rougher to me; worn out, coarse, and more calloused than I had been aware of.

"Do you know what happened to me, to Lithuania, on February 16th?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"It was the day I declared my independence from Russia in 1918."

My mouth was rounded into a silent 'oh'. But a moment later, I realized a contradiction.

"In 1918? But I thought Russia took you in again until 1990?"

He winced. "Well, yes, I did return to Russia's household in 1940."

"Was… was that when you got your scars?" I asked timidly.

"Some of it," he admitted. "I could recall where I earned each scar, though I won't tell you all of it. Most were from the wars I fought, of course, perhaps one or two from when I was with Poland." He paused for a few moments as his troubled green eyes sought mines. "(name)…?"

"Yes?" I said rather nervously.

"Do you love me?" he whispered, his voice faint and quivering.

"I – of course I do!" I exclaimed, horror pitched in my throat. Why is he asking such a question? "We've been together for so long! What makes you think I won't?"

"I have a question for you as a human, (name)." He took a deep breath and smiled bitterly. "Do you love me as a person or as a nation?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

His hands started to trail to his shoulders. "As Toris, as a mere person, these marks on my back mean nothing to me. Most humans don't care much about scars. It's merely a nick on the skin, an accident that could be forgotten. In fact, it's a symbol of strength if you had overcome something. However, as Lithuania, as a country, these scars mean everything to me. Every individual scar on me is a record of Lithuanian history. They're reminders of what I had done and they'll never allow me to forget them."

"So you're asking me to choose between Toris and Lithuania?" I wondered aloud, "To either choose the one who cares about his scars and the other that doesn't?"

"Yes," he answered bleakly.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I want to know if you think differently of me now that you've seen my scars," he admitted.

I pursed my lips and frowned. My heart was beating fast and my mind was whirling. I crawled a little closer to Toris and something in me drove me to simply hug him, to press his warm body against my own. He was the one who needed the comfort, not me.

"You know, Toris?" I began, "You often take things so seriously that sometimes you hurt yourself in the process too. I remember when you told me you were a country, an immortal representative of a nation. Naturally, I was shocked. Anyone would. But the thing is, aren't you still the same human whether a person calls you Toris or Lithuania? If you and I can't divide a person in two, nor can I judge you by your scars. Isn't Toris and Lithuania one and same on the inside? They've both seen the exact same things through same pair of eyes, haven't they? They're both you. And I love you."

The Lithuanian stiffened in my arms. Then the next instant, I was crushed in his embrace. I scarcely cared that I could barely breathe, in fact, I held him even closer.

"Su gimimo diena, Lietuva!" I added softly, right after the moment he released me.

He looked at me quizzically, his head tipping to one side. "I thought you already told me happy birthday when you gave me your present."

"That one was for Toris, this one was for Lithuania," I laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "They're both you one and same, aren't they?"


	3. Danish Lullabies

Both you and your father, Denmark, laughed loudly at the cartoon that was playing on the television. Your Uncle Norway sighed.

"Shouldn't (f/n) be in bed by now?"

"Awwwww! No!"

Denmark blinked. "What time is it?"

"It's half-past nine."

Denmark turned around to look at you, his eyes wide. "You should have been in bed an hour ago! Aren't you tired?"

"Nooooooo…" Your words were slurred by the yawn that managed to get out, no matter how hard you were trying not to seem tired.

Norway sighed and made his way over to you, trying to lift you up. But before he could do that, Denmark had grabbed the back of the navy sailor suit Norway always wore and pulled him back down to his seat.

"She's my daughter. I'll put her to sleep."

"Whatever, Dane."

Denmark lifted you up easily, cradling you in his arms. He walked out of the living room, moving towards the stairs that led to the second floor. He climbed up them easily and opened your bedroom door with his foot. He placed you on your bed and tucked you in.

"Goodnight."

"Wait! Could you sing me a lullaby?"

Denmark paused. A lullaby? She hardly ever asks me to sing! He grinned that big, goofy grin that could make even the most cold-hearted person in the world crack a smile. "Okay."

Denmark sat on the side of your bed, near your feet. He started to sing.

"Den lille Ole med paraplyen

ham kender alle små børn i byen;

hver lille pige, hver lille dreng

han genner skælmsk i sin lille seng.

Dog vil han først paraplyen brede

og uskylds hygge om lejet sprede;

så vil i drømme den lille fyr

fortælle dejlige eventyr.

Han kan fortælle om stjerner klare,

om himlens hellige engleskare

og om den yndige, milde fe,

som alle børn vil så gerne se.

Og har om dagen de artig været

og kærligt fader og moder æret,

da kan så glade til sengs de gå

og drømme sødt om Guds engle små."1

You were already asleep by the end of the song. Denmark grinned, but softer than his usual one.

"Jeg elsker dig, (f/n).2 I will be an awesome father, no matter what Norway thinks."

**A/N**

**1- The Little Ole with umbrella**

**he knows all the little children in the city;**

**every little girl, every little boy**

**he herd the roguish in his little bed.**

**However, he first umbrella wide**

**and innocence cozy on the bed spread;**

**then in dreams the little guy**

**tell wonderful stories.**

**He can talk about the stars bright**

**for heaven's holy angels crowd**

**and the lovely, gentle fairy,**

**that all children would like to see.**

**And have a day of good been**

**and loving father and mother honored**

**as can be so happy to bed they go**

**and dreaming sweetly of God's little angels.**

**2- I love you, (f/n).**


End file.
